


Timeless

by Mississippi_moon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Fluff, Immortality, M/M, Merlin and Arthur are an old married couple basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mississippi_moon/pseuds/Mississippi_moon
Summary: In which Arthur ages and Merlin doesn’t. They don’t talk about it for a long time, but they both know what it means. And when it’s Arthur’s time, Merlin cannot bring himself to move on. Arthur rises alone centuries later, with only tidbits of vague feelings and nothing to connect him to his previous life. Until he finds it.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	1. Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> You guys I'm just exploding with so many story ideas. I came up with this idea last night and I ended up writing it down and not stopping. Lots more to come, keep an eye out! XOXO

Arthur is having a hard time with his sword arm again. Merlin can see right through him, and Arthur knows it too. But he still tries to hide it, being the prat that he is. Arthur had injured it a long time ago from overuse. Merlin had tended to it himself, but no matter how well he mended it, it couldn’t be completely fixed in the long run because Arthur still insists on picking up a sword. Merlin licks his lips, torn between his concern for Arthur and his concern for the kingdom.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Arthur says suddenly, not even turning to look at him.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “And  _ what,  _ pray tell, might I be thinking, your majesty?”

Arthur turns this time, his expression an odd mix of amusement and weariness. “You don’t want me to fight.”

Merlin crosses his arms with a sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want you to fight. I know you will, no matter what. It’s just—”

“What?” Arthur interjects, his tone challenging.

Merlin sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling back to his sides. “You can’t defend yourself as well as you used to. If we lose you in battle—”

“I can defend myself just fine. Besides, I’ll have you right there with me, won’t I? My good luck charm.”

Despite the worry churning within him, Merlin is unable to suppress a smile. “Of course. There’s nowhere else I’d ever be.”

Arthur grabs Merlin’s wrist, pulling him close. Merlin’s breath hitches, as if this is the first time Arthur’s done so. The king plants a kiss on Merlin’s open lips, leaving him all the more breathless for a moment.

“Stop worrying like a starry-eyed maiden. King’s orders.”

“You know I can’t help it after all the times I’ve had to save your sorry arse.”

Arthur bites Merlin’s lip in retaliation, his brow arched mischievously. Merlin just lets out a laugh, which was cut short by Arthur’s lips effectively silencing him. 

“You were always destined to be a pain in my arse, weren’t you?” Merlin whispers, his eyes peering up into Arthur’s. 

“You love me anyway.”

Merlin nods. “With all my heart.”

* * *

Arthur’s got grey in his hair. It’s only a bit, but Merlin notices it when he kisses his golden head in the lazy hours of the morning. At first, Merlin teases him, calling him a wise old king. It’s only late in the night, when Arthur’s profile is illuminated by the crackling hearth that Merlin lets slip that he likes it. His king smiles victoriously, pouncing on Merlin, who never stood a chance, rendered helpless by the blankets cocooning him. Merlin voices his disadvantage, but his protests fall on deaf ears as Arthur kisses up the length of his neck and then slows, settling on his jaw. The hearth burns brighter as Merlin’s magic hums in the air, responding naturally to mirror his pleasure. Arthur stops, pulling back just far enough to smirk. 

Merlin groans with feigned annoyance. “Must you always be so smug?”

“Yes. It’s one of my many admirable traits.”

“You wish,” Merlin says, freeing one of his hands from under the covers. He lifts his hand to Arthur’s nose, flicking a harmless orange spark at him from his fingertips.

Arthur bats it away with an undignified  _ hey  _ and Merlin is laughing before the king can figure out how to enact his revenge. 

* * *

Merlin’s hair is as dark as ever. Initially, the warlock had known that he was younger and therefore would take a bit longer, but years had passed and he’s still the same. He notices the subtle changes in Arthur—his gait, posture, voice, and weariness. But more than anything, Merlin notices how these changes don’t take place in  _ him _ . Merlin grows more and more frightened on what it could mean, but he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He knows Arthur has noticed, but he doesn’t say anything about it either. 

* * *

“You’re so beautiful.”

Merlin doesn’t quite know why, but he flinches at the words. Arthur’s touching his face, staring wistfully into his eyes. His blonde hair is entirely gone now, chased away by silver. His eyes crinkle in the corners with mirth.

“I remember the first day we met, all those years ago. I thought,  _ how can anyone on this earth actually look like that _ ?” 

“Ears weighing down my entire body?” Merlin says, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips.

Arthur huffs out a laugh, but it quickly subsides into a melancholy smile. “You look almost exactly the same.”

Dread settles in Merlin’s stomach, making him ache. He presses his right hand over his eyes. “I’m so scared, Arthur,” he whispers, feeling his eyes grow wet under his fingers.

Arthur gathers Merlin up in his steady grip, pulling him onto his lap. Merlin curls up into a ball, feeling utterly small as the tears keep falling. His heart is racing, his breath stuttering as the truth they’d been dancing around so carefully suddenly opens up under them and threatens to swallow him.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Merlin says into Arthur’s chest. Maybe it’s selfish to say, but it’s so true it hurts, cuts him to his very core.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. You deserve so much better. I wouldn’t wish this upon my worst enemy.”

And Merlin breaks, sobbing openly in Arthur’s arms, knowing that even this moment is fleeting for him.

* * *

It happened in the night. Merlin felt it, the tug to wakefulness before it hit him. Even as dawn breaks, Merlin remains, stock-still. The tears had dried out long ago, his voice nearly gone with them. Arthur is so still in Merlin’s hold. His only warmth now comes from Merlin’s magic, digging its claws into him as if it could bring him back. Merlin had known it was coming, but that never made any of it hurt less. 

How is he expected to continue? Merlin’s entire world is gone, ripped away in the quiet hours of the night. There’s nothing left in him that wishes to carry on.

They find him there, eyes unfocused and body rigid with the shock of it. It takes more than one of them to pry Arthur out of his grip. They’re saying things to him, touching him tentatively. He barely notices any of it. He just sits, staring at his horribly-smooth hands. Not a single wrinkle or mark of old age. He’s never been more disgusted with himself.

* * *

They give him a proper funeral fit for a just king. Merlin can’t bring himself to go. He can’t say good-bye, can hardly think it. He leaves Camelot that morning before the sun begins to rise. He momentarily considers heading towards Ealdor, but the thought of his mother, of Will, quickly turns him in the opposite direction. Merlin has nothing left, no one to turn to. He’s outlived everyone that ever mattered to him. To other men, perhaps this would be seen as a victory. To Merlin, it is the worst possible fate ever bestowed on a man.

He wanders, perhaps for days. He doesn’t really keep track. No food or drink ever came near his lips as he walked. Merlin’s body finally fails him, crumpling to the ground in a heap. He moves onto his back, staring up at the bright sun and the cloudless blue sky. How  _ dare _ the world still boast such beauty and cheeriness after everything?

Merlin lies there in the grass, unsure and uncaring of how much time has passed. His magic starts to hum within him, slowly at first and then all at once. Merlin feels it seeping into the earth, as if returning to it. He wonders distantly if this might be the thing to finally kill him, and he can’t bring himself to care. As his eyes flutter closed, he sees life springing up all around him. 

At least he has one last thing to offer before he’s gone.


	2. Arthur

Arthur’s father was always disturbingly ambitious. He has little regard for the world around him, that much has always been blatantly clear. Why Arthur still allows himself to be ordered around by Uther has never been clear to him. So now, Arthur stands in a luscious field, holding a clipboard and preparing to sign on the dotted line. Uther means to own this piece of land and plow right through it, adding to his growing empire. Arthur hates the company, even hates his own father at times, but can never bring himself to resist him.

Something about this place, though… 

Arthur ignores his itching sense of duty and drops the clipboard in the grass, walking farther into the field. The land is practically humming with life beneath his feet. Long grass sways and brushes his kneecaps while birds circle cheerily above him. The field is dotted with trees, but a small grove rests in the center. Arthur feels inexplicably drawn to it. 

Arthur passes through a small gap disrupting the circle of trees. His breath escapes him as he observes the clearing. The grass here is a lush green dotted with vibrant wildflowers. At the center of it all is a great oak tree, twisting elegantly towards the sky. The very air hums with life, and the tree appears to be the center of it. Arthur’s skull is practically buzzing as he approaches, yet he feels oddly at peace. This place feels somehow familiar to him, though he’s positive he’s never been here before. 

Arthur holds out a hand and runs it along the rough exterior of the oak. Everything shifts as he touches it, as if the entire grove is now holding its breath. Then the oak rustles in a way that Arthur can only describe as a shudder and suddenly Arthur is falling to his knees. And, just as suddenly, he’s not alone.

Arthur blinks at the figure lying there in the grass next to him and his heart does a confusing somersault. He  _ knows  _ that face, even slackened in a deep slumber.

“Merlin?” The name tears itself from his lips and Arthur doesn’t recognize it, but he knows it’s right. It  _ feels  _ right and easy on his tongue like honey, even though he’s never spoken it before.

But he must’ve at some point, because the sight of this boy lying in the grass is so familiar and hurts so much that Arthur can hardly breathe. He pulls Merlin into his embrace and holds him there, not ever wanting to let go and unable to even understand why. He almost sobs in relief as he feels Merlin breathing steadily in his hold and nothing else seems to matter anymore.

* * *

Arthur almost considers taking Merlin to the hospital, but he quickly decides against it. After all, Arthur wouldn’t be able to answer any questions they’d have. He can’t even answer any of his  _ own _ questions. So he tucks Merlin into the front seat of his car, his hands lingering on his chest where Arthur can feel his heart beat. He drives quickly back to his flat, his mind swirling with confusing flashes of images and feelings that aren’t his. Are they?

Arthur nearly lays Merlin on his couch when he arrives, but it feels wrong to even consider. Instead, Arthur places him in his own bed and gently arranges his long limbs in a more comfortable position. Merlin sleeps on, his face peaceful and ethereal in a way that makes Arthur’s heart jump. How can Arthur know someone he’s sure he’s never actually met? He feels ridiculous and ashamed when he pictures his father’s response to Arthur’s behavior. What is  _ wrong  _ with him? Did he really just abandon Uther’s direct orders for the sake of a stranger lying unconscious in some random field?

Arthur feels his brow pinch. He does know Merlin, somehow, he’s sure of it now. Nothing else can explain that warm, familiar feeling in his chest, or the fact that he knows Merlin’s name and the crushing relief and completion he feels just by looking at his face. It’s something beyond Arthur’s comprehension, something Arthur hopes can be explained when Merlin wakes. Cold fear pools suddenly in his gut.  _ Will he even wake at all? _

* * *

Arthur’s sipping a cup of tea, staring wistfully at Merlin’s untouched, steaming cup when Merlin begins to stir. Arthur starts forward in his chair as Merlin’s eyes flutter open. His gaze is strikingly blue and undeniably familiar, though his eyes are a bit cloudy with confusion. 

“This is a new one,” Merlin hardly whispers, his voice hoarse. “Ugh. What’s wrong with me? I feel like absolute rubbish.”

Arthur blinks at him. “What do you mean, ‘this is a new one?’”

Merlin smiles a bit, running a hand through his hair. Arthur tries not to stare too much at his lips. “My dreams are pretty much the same. You’re always in them, but we’re usually in Camelot, not… wherever we are.”

Arthur’s breath hitches. “Camelot…” 

Of course, Arthur has heard the legends and is familiar with the word. But hearing it from Merlin’s mouth… Arthur looks up, catching Merlin’s amused but tired gaze.

“Merlin,” Arthur says slowly, testing out the name again. Merlin just looks at him expectantly. “It’s not a dream. I found you lying in a field. I’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.”

Merlin sits up, eyes widening in alarm. “But that’s impossible. I saw you die, Arthur. I felt _ myself  _ die, or,” his face tightens in a look of bewilderment, “something like that.”

Arthur feels his face twist up into a frown. “I’m not sure what you mean, but I don’t think you died.” Arthur shakes his head, realization dawning on him. “I think you’ve been trapped inside that oak tree.”

It doesn’t make much sense, but Arthur is certain that it’s the truth. Merlin doesn’t seem all that shocked by it. He nods slowly, and Arthur watches him put the pieces together. Merlin says nothing for a while. He just focuses on breathing, watching Arthur with newfound curiosity. “You’re so young,” he says finally. 

The statement is so unexpected that Arthur gets defensive. “I am  _ not!  _ I’ll have you know that I run a very efficient branch in my company, and—” 

Merlin starts laughing with his whole body, pure glee shining in his eyes. “And you haven’t changed a bit.”

Arthur can’t explain why this man’s laughter is making him feel something so deeply… something he’s never experienced in his entire life. He starts picking at his shirt, suddenly uneasy at how certain Merlin seems to be.

“How do you know me?” Arthur asks, his eyes returning to Merlin’s face despite himself. 

He watches Merlin’s face fall, all joy gone in a matter of seconds. Arthur wishes he had held his tongue.

“You really don’t remember?”

“I’m sure I know you, I just don’t know how,” Arthur says carefully. “I knew your name when I saw your face, but that’s all I know.”

Merlin looks down at the covers over him, blowing out a breath. “Just when I thought fate couldn’t be any crueler.” 

Arthur tenses. “Merlin, why are you so sure that you saw me die?”

Merlin regards him helplessly, his blue eyes melancholy. “I can’t explain. You might not even be meant to remember.”

Arthur watches as Merlin rubs at his temples, practically deflating before Arthur’s eyes. Arthur hates it, but he can’t think of anything to fix it.

“What did I ever do to deserve any of this?” Merlin whispers, his voice broken.

Arthur has no idea what to say to that as Merlin buries his face in his hands. Perhaps against his better judgement, Arthur tentatively touches Merlin’s arm. The warm, familiar feeling is back, enlivened by the touch. Arthur clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, really. I want to understand, I just…” he trails off, unsure of what else there is to say. 

But Merlin turns to him and smiles, though the tear tracks on his cheeks are fresh and do little to reassure Arthur. Merlin covers Arthur’s hand with his own, and for a moment he feels like he might be somewhere else, somewhere just on the edge of his mind. The place he can’t remember.

Then Merlin shifts and it fades away, slinking back into the dark. Arthur wants to yell or break something. But he doesn’t because Merlin’s there and Arthur doesn’t want to worry him, or scare him off, and  _ since when did Merlin become the only thing that matters _ ? Arthur’s entire life had gone on just fine without him. Jesus, how is it possible for Merlin to affect him in such a colossal way after hardly a day?

“There’s something about you, Merlin…” Arthur blurts, not really meaning to say it.

Merlin smiles again, and it confuses the hell out of Arthur. How can one look so happy yet so heartbroken at the same time?

“That was one of the first things you ever said to me. And after all that, you still never bothered to fathom me out.”

Arthur is pretty sure he hasn’t said anything like that to Merlin before, but then again, he’s not really quite sure of anything right now. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d actually like to fathom you out for a good long while. You’re like a living, breathing riddle.”

Merlin’s smile deepens. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Arthur’s smiling as well, though he’s not quite sure why. Merlin stretches, moving to the edge of the bed. 

“Are you hungry? Do you want to take a shower or something?” Arthur asks, suddenly remembering that Merlin had been trapped in a damn oak tree for God knows how long.

“What’s a shower?”

* * *

What the hell.  _ What the hell? _ If Arthur wasn’t feeling so strange and confused himself then he might’ve sent Merlin off to a shrink or something. Mere moments ago, Arthur had to explain the concept of a  _ shower _ to Merlin and help him turn it on.

_ Ingenious use of magic. I’m surprised I never thought of this myself.  _

_ What on  _ earth  _ are you talking about? _

Merlin had studied him, seeming to come to some conclusion that made his face go white as a sheet.

_ Arthur, what year is it? _

Arthur shudders, growing more and more uncomfortable with the conclusions his mind keeps drawing about that interaction. He just quietly hopes that Merlin won’t slip and hurt himself in the shower. He had looked pretty weak in the knees before Arthur had left him to his business. 

Arthur ambles his way into the kitchen, searching for something to fix up for the both of them to eat. He valiantly keeps himself occupied in order to ignore the sound of the running water and the thought of Merlin in his shower. Nope, he’s not thinking about it. He’s just innocently heating up some soup. 

When Merlin emerges some time later, he’s wearing the clothes Arthur has set out for him. It’s a simple white v-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants, but Arthur can’t look away. Merlin’s damn clavicles should be fucking illegal. Not to mention his messy hair after having dried it that gives him an odd mix of boyish-ruggedness that confuses the hell out of Arthur and leaves him feeling jittery.

“Feeling a bit better?” Arthur squeaks. Jesus. He’d be mortified if Merlin acknowledged his obvious discomfort.

He doesn’t though. Merlin merely shrugs, planting himself down on one of Arthur’s rickety kitchen chairs. “Physically, yeah.”

Merlin doesn’t continue, and Arthur feels the gravity of the unspoken words. He nods in understanding, then sets down a bowl of hot soup on the table Merlin’s leaning on. 

“Get your strength back,” Arthur says plainly, gesturing to the steaming bowl.

Merlin turns to look at him, pivoting his entire body and raising an amused eyebrow.

“What?” Arthur demands incredulously after a few beats.

“Nothing. Just  _ you _ serving  _ me _ . Never thought I’d live to see the day.” Then Merlin laughs, but it hollows out and quickly disintegrates. There’s a weight in the air that Arthur can’t even begin to comprehend, let alone try to sweep away. It makes him feel hollow, like he’s missing a huge piece of the puzzle and can never be complete without it.

* * *

Merlin treads carefully around Arthur, as if something he’d say or do might break Arthur in half or something ridiculous like that. Arthur avoids going back to work and ignores the stream of phone calls from his coworkers, mostly out of fear of facing his father. What could Arthur say to him, anyways? He’d never liked working with Uther, or the kind of work his company required of him. Arthur had always desired a more quiet, simple life out in the country. Quite a while ago, he’d moved into this pitiful flat to get his distance from his father and his expectations. Arthur’s more grateful now than ever before to have his own space. 

Merlin touches Arthur a lot. They’re fleeting, like Merlin’s wary of burning him. Arthur thinks it might be just another thing that he doesn’t understand about Merlin, something that goes deeper beyond what Merlin is telling him. Arthur wants to get angry and demand the truth, but everytime Arthur goes to speak with Merlin, the words simply die in his throat. Arthur can read it in his eyes: Merlin  _ wants _ to explain everything, desperately, but he  _ can’t  _ for some reason.

_ You might not even be meant to remember,  _ Merlin had said. Whatever that means.

“So, where do we go from here?” Merlin asks suddenly.

Arthur loses his grip on his spoon and milk and bits of cereal splash onto the tabletop. “What do you mean?”

Merlin shoots him a look, his mouth quirked. Arthur has the strangest urge to call him an idiot.

“Arthur. We can’t both hole up in this flat forever. I know you have a life outside of this.”

Arthur rubs at his forehead, feeling a sudden ache building. “I’ve been avoiding going back. My father…”

Merlin just nods. “Uther always did give you a hard time.” Merlin leans forward, his face pinched seriously. “You don’t have to do or be anything he tells you to.  _ You _ decide your own fate, no one else.”

Arthur feels himself frowning, despite the encouraging words. “How do you even know anything about my father?”

“You could say we had a... complicated relationship. I can’t really—”

“Explain? Yeah, I got it.” Arthur stands, scooping up both of their bowls and dropping them in the kitchen sink. He hears Merlin stand behind him but doesn’t turn to face him.

“I want to, but I just… perhaps it’d be easier if I—”

“If you what?” Arthur swivels, turning to face Merlin. He feels the righteous anger he’d been waiting for finally begin to flare up in his chest.

“If I left you alone. Pretend this never happened, and you can go back to your life before.”

“Pretend it never happened? But it  _ did _ , Merlin! I can’t just forget!”

“I could help you to—”

“Is that what you want?” Arthur’s breath hitches. “To leave?”

“No, of course not! I never wanted any of this to happen, but it’d be easier for the both of us—”

“You might think so Merlin, but it would not be  _ easy _ for me.”

Merlin sighs, his hands falling to his sides. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you,” he whispers. 

Arthur takes a shuddering breath, stepping forward with newfound courage. He reaches for Merlin’s wrists, holding them gently. “Then don’t go,” Arthur says.

He looks up from his hands over Merlin’s and sees tears falling freely from Merlin’s blue eyes. Arthur quickly releases Merlin’s wrists and lifts his hands, thumbing away the tears. Merlin shakes his head ever so slightly, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Such beautiful eyes should never have to shed tears,” Arthur whispers, touching his forehead to Merlin’s.

Merlin laughs wetly, several more tears sliding down his cheeks as he closes his eyes. Arthur gives in to it, leaning forward and kissing Merlin softly. The taste of his lips is achingly familiar, though salty with the taste of fresh tears. Arthur pulls back, overwhelmed with emotion. 

And as his eyes open and Merlin meets his gaze, Arthur remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I thought I knew where this story was going, but it took a completely different turn as I was writing it. This is also my first Merthur fic… I hope you all liked it anyways!


End file.
